


sharing different heartbeats

by feminist14er



Series: four hands and then away [2]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-01
Updated: 2015-11-01
Packaged: 2018-04-29 07:56:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5120795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feminist14er/pseuds/feminist14er
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>naturally, when Clarke finds out she's pregnant, the first thing she does is worry about whether her kid's going to have a soulmark or not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	sharing different heartbeats

**Author's Note:**

> A companion piece/sequel to 'cause you color me clear. (I expect one or two more fics in this series, but they're going to be a while in coming, I think).

It’s when she gets pregnant that she starts fretting about whether or not their kid is going to have a soulmark. She hasn’t even told Bellamy yet, is only just barely sure that she’s pregnant, but she’s – yeah, she’s pretty sure, and it shouldn’t matter yet, should only matter that they _want_ to be pregnant, want to raise a kid together, but right now, as she’s got her legs wrapped around the sides of the toilet bowl at work, her head resting on the porcelain as she waits for the next round of nausea – surely now is a good time to start freaking out about whether the kid’s going to have a soulmark, of course it is.

They’re not even going to know for at least five to eight years, and it’s probably going to be more like ten, but yes, Clarke should definitely start freaking out about it now.

There’s a banging on the door, Raven yelling, “Clarke? If you’re done, you’ve got a client.”

“Coming,” Clarke manages. She sips at the tea beside her, waits to see if she’s going to keep it down for the moment. When she does, she flushes the toilet, washes her hands, and presses a damp paper towel against her neck and face, hopes she looks less flushed and feverish than she feels.

She hasn’t told anyone yet, but she knows that Raven and Octavia are both looking at her askance, and it’s nearly time, but she wants Bellamy to know first, and they really just re-opened Neverland, and she’s not totally sure that it’s a good time – but it’s better than it was six months ago, so there’s that. That’s her constant reassurance, and it’s not much.

Raven’s waiting for her when she steps out of the bathroom, and the look on her face is unimpressed, her fingers tapping along the arrows she now has tattooed along her forearm. She opens her mouth, shakes her head, then walks out to the front.

Clarke’s customer is one that she’s worked with before; she’s one of Clarke’s regulars, but it’s been a while since they’ve been _open_ , so it’s with a smile that Clarke greets her. “Hi Fox,” she says, holding her arms out for a hug. The younger woman smiles, steps into Clarke’s embrace. “It’s good to see you.”

They have unfinished work on the top of Fox’s back, and it’s easy to step back into her routine. Clarke is grateful every day now, even more so than she was before, that she gets to do what she wants, and now it’s with less pressure, fewer people breathing down her neck, no one threatening her and everything she holds dear.

She and Fox chat as she works the ink over her skin, each of them taking breaks for water, to change colors, and it’s easy. Clarke feels her nausea ebbing away slightly as she continues to focus on her work, and it’s comforting to know that, even though there’s this new and slightly unexpected development in her life, this is still stable, still her home.

When she finishes with Fox, slowly rubbing ointment into the new ink, wrapping her skin in cellophane and kissing her cheek, she scrubs her hands and her arms and sighs. She’s tired, and she knows already that this is just the beginning of how she’s going to feel.

She turns around, sees that both Octavia and Raven are standing behind her, arms crossed over their chests, and it would be funny, the determined looks on their faces, their matching posture, except that Clarke really _doesn’t_ want to deal with this right now, just wants to go home and snuggle into Bellamy’s side. Still, she’s sure she’s not leaving until she talks to them, so.

“Is this the inquisition?” She asks dryly.

“That depends,” Raven says. “Are you going to tell us what’s going on?”

Clarke glances between Raven and Octavia, and – she really wanted to tell Bellamy first, but these women are her family too, and she’s going to need them. She also knows that Octavia _knows_ that Clarke and Bellamy are having sex, but there’s still a childish part of her that feels super awkward telling her.

“I’m – I’m pretty sure I’m pregnant,” Clarke mutters, looking down at her hands. She always wears gloves when she tattoos, like any good artist, but she’s got ink around her cuticles from drawing, and she starts picking at it, rather than looking up. It’s silent for long enough that she does, and when she does, Octavia and Raven are grinning first at each other, then at her, and then they’re both pulling her into a hug, and squealing in her ears.

She feels tears prickling at her eyes, and she is _so lucky_ to have friends like this, and she never wants to forget how loved she is, and by the best people.

Octavia is chanting “I’m going to be an auntie!” over and over again, running around the shop with her arms up in the air, flailing her hands around, and Raven is just grinning at Clarke like the Cheshire cat, a little smug.

“I was pretty sure,” she tells Clarke. “I didn’t really want to intimidate you into telling us, but you weren’t hiding it well, and I didn’t want to you to continue not hiding it well for however long.”

Octavia finally stops her victory dance, stands in front of Clarke. “Wait, I need to know what my brother said when you told him so I can embarrass him about it forever.” She looks at Clarke expectantly, and Clarke swallows down the lump in her throat.

Raven cottons on right away. “You haven’t told him yet, have you?” she asks. “Jesus, Clarke! You have to tell him!”

Clarke scowls. “ _Obviously_ I have to tell him, Raven, I’m not an idiot. I just – haven’t yet.”

Octavia’s looking at her darkly. “What are you waiting for?”

Clarke sighs. “Nothing, really. I just – I was pretty sure about three weeks ago, but then the morning sickness started, and I only _just_ started being really sure, and I – we’re only just beginning to piece things back together, and I’m happy, I really am, but it seems inopportune somehow.” 

Octavia rolls her eyes. “I don’t think you understand how much Bellamy is absolutely over the moon about you. If you’re excited, if you’re happy, he’s going to be happy. Probably more than happy, actually. It’ll probably be more like ecstatic. And you forget, but he basically raised me. He comes with like, built-in dad abilities.”

Clarke has to grin at that. “That’s good, because if my mom is any point of reference, my parenting genes are highly dysfunctional.”

This time both women roll their eyes at her, wait for her to put on her coat, and shoo her out into the night.

\--

Clarke takes a breath into the bright summer air, revels at seeing the sun, even though it’s still cool out. She’s still getting used to walking home without Bellamy, without fear of being followed or beat up, and it’s a shockingly light feeling for her. Still, she wasn’t entirely kidding when she mentioned her fears of being a bad parent, and she walks home with her insecurities dogging her.

She slips inside the house, tugs off her boots, and pads down the hallway toward their room. Bellamy often reads in bed, even when it’s not very late at night, and she’s expecting it when she sees him sitting upright, a tattered copy of The Odyssey in his hands. She pauses to take him in, reveling in the fact that he looks better – they both do. The start of their relationship was difficult for both of them, hiding and worrying and trying to protect their friends. It’s easier now, the light from the summer sun, the freedom from being out from Dante Wallace’s thumb. Clarke still has to be careful, but the leverage her mother and Kane, and Wells exercised against Jaha has made it so she can tattoo more or less freely, and there is the promise of legislative changes, and – it’s a tremendous start.

Bellamy looks up to see Clarke standing in the doorway, lit by the hallway light, her blouse loose around her, and she’s a vision, especially when she smiles at him. It’s not her standard grin, the lightning fast smile he’s used to – it’s softer, and when she walks toward him, she looks down, playing with the hem of her shirt. She doesn’t tug it over her head like he expects, but she does crawl up on the bed, nudging his book out of the way.

He kisses the top of her head, and she hums against him. “Hi,” she says, looking up at him from under her eyelashes. “How was your day?”

He smiles down at her. “It was good. Not much to report. You?”

“I worked on Fox for a few hours today. She’s almost done.” She tucks her head further under his arm, pressing closer into his chest. She pauses, and he can feel the tension in her body against his, even as he can feel how tired she is, her breath trying to slow even as her muscles stay tense. He rubs up and down her arm, waiting.

Finally, she breathes out, asks, “What would you think about having a kid?” She says it very small, very quiet, and he stops for just a second in surprise, before going back to caressing her skin. He’s never really allowed himself to think about it, not with her, or with anyone, but –

“I’m generally pro-kids, why?” He’s trying to play it safe, not really sure what’s happening here.

She huffs, ducks out from under his arm. She shifts until she’s looking at him straight on. “I’m pretty sure I’m pregnant.”

He’s pretty sure he stops breathing for a moment, but then – “How sure is pretty sure?”

Clarke is starting to relax at the look on his face, something like surprise, a lot like joy. “Well, unless I have the weirdest, least contagious flu ever, I’m like – 99% sure,” she says, grinning at him, at the obvious delight growing across his face.

Suddenly he’s tackling her to the bed (and Clarke realizes he’s tackling her _gently_ , is pretty amused by him right now), kissing her greedily, and she’s laughing against him, can’t quite stop. “So I’m guessing this is a good thing, yeah?” she asks, pulling him back from her.

He looks at her, considers. He can’t quite stop the grin on his face, but – “Do _you_ think it’s a good thing?” he asks, pulling back and pulling her upright to sitting again.

“I mean, we hadn’t really talked about it, certainly hadn’t _planned_ it, but it’s you – so yeah, I’m happy,” she says.

He shakes his head, can’t stop grinning. “You’re really sure?”

She smacks a kiss to the side of his face. “I’m really sure. Can you make me waffles now?”

He laughs, pulls her up from the bed and down the hall to make dinner.

\--

It’s as they’re lying in bed later that night, him tracing patterns on the skin of her chest, making patterns where there aren’t any that she asks, “What if the kid has a soulmark?”

Bellamy stills against her.

“I know that it’s really silly to be worried about it, that we’ve got close to a decade before we can even know, but – how do we explain that to a kid?”

Bellamy kisses over her heart, goes back to tracing patterns, this time marking the constellations she has tattooed across her chest. “I remember you talking to O when she found Lincoln. I think it’ll probably go something like that, except in ten year old words.”

Clarke considers this for a moment, pets through Bellamy’s hair. “Yeah, but like – we can’t even explain what it feels like, what it means to people. We have no idea. What if the kid thinks we’re weirdos?”

“Okay, first of all, the kid’s going to have like, ten aunts and uncles that can explain the whole thing to them, if this is even a concern. Second of all, the kid’s probably going to think we’re weird for a whole slew of other reasons, so I don’t think that’s our biggest problem.”

Clarke’s never thought about this before, has never had regrets over her tattoos before, but – “What if it doesn’t like me because of the tattoos? What if it thinks I’m a freak?” She whispers it into the dark, her fears leaking out into the quiet. She loves the way she looks, but – she doesn’t look like most people, doesn’t know what that’s going to mean for her child. She’s been able to walk into the world relatively unscathed, in spite of everything, but – her appearance is going to make it harder for her kid.

“Clarke. You’re beautiful, you know? Our kid’s going to grow up thinking that the sun shines out your ass because of who you are – that includes the tattoos, and the lack of soulmark, and your weird lip birthmark, and the way your hair curls, and when it has questions, we’re going to answer them. Kids say mean things, especially when they’re mad, but they’d find something else to say if it weren’t about the tattoos.”

Clarke smiles. “It seems like _you_ think the sun shines out my ass, which I’m pretty okay with.”

“Just okay?” he asks, grinning. “We’re going to have to make it better than okay.” He rolls over on top of her, and they spend the rest of the night curled up in each other.

\--

It’s two months later when Clarke finally tells Abby, because she can’t keep going to their now-weekly lunches wearing coats. It’s the tail-end of summer, and she’s soaking up as much sun as she can, laying on the roof with her stomach exposed as often as she can, trying to imbue the kid with the memory of sunshine and warmth. She’s pretty sure it’s going to be born in February or March, and it’s dreary times from then until – June. At least.

Still, she’s been wearing coats up until now, mostly because her body temperature fluctuates wildly between inside and outside temperatures, and also because – she’s made a lot of strides with her mom, but she’s having a hard time imagining how this conversation is going to go. But she’s also just barely beginning to show (she can tell she’s not going to be the type of cute pregnant lady that stays tiny forever; she’s got a body that’s well-suited to babies, and she’s showing, just ever so slightly, but still. And her mother’s a doctor, she’s _going to know_ ).

She barely sits down, takes off her coat, before her mother is asking, “So, how far along are you?”

Clarke can barely keep her mouth closed. Her mother is not known for her tact, necessarily, but apparently they’re cutting right to the chase, because – “Clarke, you haven’t been drinking at any of our lunches, and you ate the most bland food you could find on the menu for the first two months after Neverland reopened. It doesn’t take an M.D. to pick up on that one.”

“I just – was hoping to actually tell you?” Clarke says, almost helplessly. “But that’s fine, I guess.” She’s trying to find her bearings, re-orient toward this change in tact. “I’m due in February, I’m pretty sure. So four months along.”

“You’re pretty sure?” Abby asks skeptically. “Please tell me you’ve seen a doctor.”

Clarke winces. “It’s on my list?” she offers.

Abby sets down the menu, looks over at Clarke critically. “We’re going to the doctor after this. Call Raven and tell her to cancel your appointments, or give them to Lincoln, I don’t care. We’re going to the doctor.”

Clarke wants to bristle under her mother’s brusque treatment, but she also knows she’s right. She just – hasn’t had the time yet. She nods, and then lunch proceeds as usual.

\--

“I went to the doctor today,” Clarke calls out when she swings into the house.

“Finally! I’ve been badgering at you to do it,” Bellamy calls back. He walks out from the back room, pecks Clarke on the lips.

“Yes, well, you can’t _really_ say no to my mom when she starts the conversation with ‘how far along are you’ and proceeds to drag you to the doctor when she finds out you haven’t gone yet.” She rolls her eyes, but Bellamy nods.

“I need to send your mother some flowers.”

“Hey now, why are you on her side?” Clarke asks, poking him in the side.

“Because _you’re pregnant_ , and normally, people see a doctor during that time,” he teases. “Besides, you weren’t going to listen to me, but I know your mother. She’ll make sure you take the vitamins and do whatever needs doing.”

Clarke rolls her eyes again, then slaps the ultrasound against his chest. “Also, here’s this.”

Bellamy looks down at it, strokes the picture contemplatively. “Wow,” he breathes. He looks up at Clarke. “I knew it was real, but – it feels very real right now.”

She smiles at him, traces his check with her thumb. She stupidly, stupidly loves this man. “I’ll make sure you can come to the next one,” she says.

\--

Clarke becomes very grateful that she can do a lot of her work sitting down as her belly grows. She’s a pretty small human, she’s always thought, and the extra weight presses on her bladder, weighs down her back. Her clients all seem very excited, her regulars leaving her knitted baby blankets, homemade baby food – she lives in a very DIY community, okay, she’s pretty pleased about it.

Monty and Miller are already dibsing times to babysit, and Clarke has talked to Harper almost ad nauseam every time she has questions (which is – all the time, it feels like). Raven made a crib for them, and Octavia and Lincoln have come over, helped them paint and rearrange one of the rooms for the baby. Lincoln then presented Clarke with several silk-screened onesies, each one with different tattoos on them, and Clarke hugged him unabashedly. She’s talked a little with O about her soulmark fears, and she thinks this is Lincoln’s way of helping out. Either way, they’re pretty precious.

The months pass, she grows bigger, Bellamy hovers more, and everything sort of proceeds. They don’t have names picked out, they don’t know the sex, and they’re just sort of – waiting in limbo until they decide which way is up. They don’t even have a short list of baby names, which Octavia thinks is weird, and Clarke kind of does, too, but they’re waiting for inspiration to strike.

(She knows Bellamy is going to want some sort of ridiculous name with no nickname, and she loves him, but she’s not naming their baby Hephaestus. She’s just not.)

\--

She wakes up one night drenched in her own sweat, and she’s probably a week or two away from her due date (she honestly – she’s been really bad about keeping track of things besides prenatal vitamins and eating reasonably appropriately. And where the ultrasounds end up), but she’s pretty sure she’s shaking from the initial pain of a contraction, and she thinks that maybe she should wake Bellamy, but the other half of her thinks it’s false labor, and she decides to go back to sleep.

She wakes up several hours later to Bellamy shaking her awake, lying in - uck, she’s definitely lying in amniotic fluid. “I think it’s maybe time,” Bellamy says quietly, but she can see – he’s excited, nervous, trying not to be frantic.

She nods, reaches out to kiss him. “Call the others, please,” she says before rising to get dressed. She grabs her bag, throws in the onesie with the constellations on it, the ones that match the ones across her chest, walks out to the kitchen. She has to pause to squeeze the side of a doorframe as the contraction ripples through her, and when it’s over, she looks up to see Bellamy watching her, talking on the phone to O.

He hangs up, goes to take the bag, and ushers her down the porch stairs and into the car.

She has several more contractions on the way there, and she doesn’t think they’re getting closer together, but she’s pretty uncomfortable, so she’s not sure she’s the best judge. And then it feels like it takes forever to check in, and she’s dilated, yes, but she’s nowhere near ready to go yet, so she and Bellamy walk around the hospital, her gripping his hand when it gets too intense, and she’s so, so glad she has him with her.

Raven and Octavia get there an hour or so in, and start taking shifts walking her up and down the hospital hallways, other patients looking at them with sympathy, and Clarke kind of wants to smack them, but she smiles tightly instead. She checks in with her doctor again, but she’s still not dilated enough, and she’s so tired, just wants to take a nap, but then the pain ripples across her belly again, and there’s no way she’s napping (probably not sleeping again for a quite a while, she thinks grimly), and she wants to sit, but she doesn’t really want to sit, and she’s getting cranky the closer it gets.

Finally the doctor checks her again, tells her it’s close enough, and they get going.

She doesn’t remember a whole lot about labor, to be honest. She remembers pushing and feeling this strong urge to work with her body, while at the same time being in a lot of pain, and she remembers Bellamy holding one hand, her mother holding another, and sweating, pushing, screaming as their baby makes it into the world, and then she’s hearing crying, and feeling the sticky feeling of her baby on her chest, and the world shrinks down to that.

They have a daughter, and she’s cooing at it before handing it off to Bellamy and the nurses to finish going through labor.

She wakes from a nap a little later to see Bellamy holding her, rocking her slowly. She’s in the constellation onesie that Lincoln made and Bellamy put on her, and right now, Clarke and her baby match, and that is one more spark of light in her heart as she watches the man she loves rock their daughter. It’s pretty perfect, she thinks, her heart light.

Bellamy looks up to see Clarke watching them, smiles at her. “She still needs a name,” he says softly.

Clarke nods, scoots over (painfully, and fuck, she hadn’t really thought about that), making room for Bellamy. She holds her arms out for her daughter, and Bellamy carefully transfers her to Clarke’s arms. Clarke breathes her in for a moment, waits for Bellamy to settle next to them. She leans her head on Bellamy’s shoulder.

“There was a woman, oh, one hundred and fifty years ago, or so. Anya studied her tattoos very carefully, started using her technique, her style. It’s the same style I use, and Lincoln uses.” 

“What was her name?” Bellamy asks.

“Alice,” Clarke answers. “Her name was Alice. She worked only a couple hundred miles from here.” She looks up at Bellamy. “We don’t have anything else, and whatever else happens – I’d kind of like to honor the roots I come from,” she says.

He nods down at her, traces the downy fuzz on their daughter’s head. “Alice it is, then.”

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this sitting around for when I was in a fic drought, and now seems like a good a time as any. Also, I've never been pregnant, etc etc. Title from "Heartbeats" by Jose Gonzalez, and baby name inspired by Alice Carrier (mostly) and Alice Kendall (a little), both of whom are part of the fantastic Wonderland Tattoo in Portland, OR.


End file.
